


An Ocean of Night

by cherryinerror



Series: Oneshots [4]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 14:12:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18966850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryinerror/pseuds/cherryinerror
Summary: A mission almost goes wrong and Lady seeks some comfort.





	An Ocean of Night

She shows up at his door covered in sweat, dirt and blood. He’s alarmed when he sees her, pulls her in and there’s the faint sound of the door closing behind her, but nothing registers properly in her brain, nothing stays for long, she’s a second away from collapsing, her knees ready to give out on her.

He’s quick, though, he’s quick and she’s thankful when he helps by walking her to the couch, that’s the only thing that makes sense in the end, the way she grabs on to him and he lets her. His lips are moving but there’s a ringing in her ears and her throat is burning and her chest is tight and she can’t breathe, fuck, she can’t breathe and he leaves her alone.

A split second in which he disappears and then he’s back, sitting next to her with a damp washcloth and a box of first aid kit. She doesn’t complain when he starts cleaning the blood off of her skin with the washcloth, doesn’t utter a single word, just stares at the poster on the walls, focuses on how old they are and how they’re close to falling apart but Dante is too stubborn to get rid of them, so they stay glued to the wall, rotting away and Lady wonders if she will rot too, wonders if she’s going to be forgotten on his wall and crumble away.

“What the hell happened?” this time his voice finally gets to her, forces her to look at him, and his eyes are way too blue for someone so full of red.

“A demon,” she says, voice barely audible.

“What kind of demon?” he forgets about the washcloth when he notices the bruise that starts on her neck, goes all the way down to her shoulder and that’s when he spots the claw marks that shredded the fabric of her shirt and tore through her skin. “Who did this to you?”

All she has to offer is a sad smile and even that takes too much of her strength, entire body is sore and aching and burning, head is heavy, heart sinking with guilt.

“Don’t worry, I took care of it,” she says, avoiding his gaze. There’s a moment of silence and then she adds, “It was chasing a kid, that demon. Just because it could, I guess, just because that little boy wasn’t going to fight back.” Dante is quiet, shoulders tense as he listens to her, trying to link her words to her injuries. “I got rid of it, I saved that kid…and he was terrified, trembling in my arms and I couldn’t tell him not to worry, I couldn’t, Dante-” she looks at him, eyes watering and red, voice shaking. “Because next week there’s going to be another demon, there’s always going to be something and I don’t know anything else. How stupid is that?”

“Lady-”

“No, it’s fine, it’s part of the job. And I’m happy to play the part, I am, I swore I’d get rid of those things, but a kid almost died and I couldn’t even comfort him, I couldn’t tell him not to worry because I all I know is this. All I know is death and blood and demons. Isn’t that pathetic?”

A dry, cynical chuckle escapes her lips, one that hides the anguish trapped in her chest. Dante doesn’t know what to do or say. Lady never lets herself become this vulnerable around him or anyone else, she never talks so openly about her feelings, never lets her guard down. Over the years he’s learned to read between the lines, figure out when her smile hides anger or fear. In his eyes she’s always been like a cat; he needs to back off and wait for her to come to him since any kind of forced affection will scare her off.

“You saved the kid. You got the job done, that’s what matters,” he says.

“Yeah, that’s what matters…but it won’t end. This shit will never end and you know what? I’m tired,” she runs a hand through her hair, wincing as the wound on her arm flares up. “I’m so damn tired.”

He wants to hold her. Hold her, kiss her, make the dread disappear, turn the pain she’s feeling into nothingness, let it dissolve under the warm promises he can offer her. But he knows that she’s already planning to run.

“Let me take care of that wound,” he says instead and to his surprise, she doesn’t protest. Ripping the ruined sleeve of her own shirt, Lady remains silent as Dante cleans the wound, applies an antiseptic, careful not to be too rough, his eyes always checking the expression on her face.

When he’s done, she takes a deep breath, directs her gaze to her arm, tries to ignore the way her heart gets caught in her throat. More scars. That’s all she gets to keep from the fights, after all, that’s all she has. Scars.

“I have to go.”

“You can crash here.”

“No-”

“I’ll get you some clothes, you can take a shower. And my bed.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll take the couch.”

“I can’t stay-”

“Stop being so stubborn. You’re hurt.”

“Careful, Dante,” she taunts, a small smirk on her face. “People might think you care.”

“Yeah, well, I’m willing to take that risk,” he replies before standing up and helping her to her feet as well. “C'mon.”

He leads them upstairs, the door to his bedroom is open and his bed is unmade. She feels bad, he was probably sleeping when she knocked on his door. Digging through the mess that is his wardrobe, he takes out a shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

She will never admit just how sweet she thinks he’s being.

“Here,” he says, giving her the clothes. “Doubt the sweatpants will stay on though,” she raises an eyebrow at him and he quickly adds, “That came out wrong but you know what I mean.”

“I know,” she gives him a genuine smile. The sweatpants are way too big for her, hell, the shirt alone will look like a dress on her but it’s better than nothing.

“Good, I’ll be downstairs then. Shout if you need anything.”

He heads to the door, stops and turns to look at her again.

“I’m the same way.”

“What?” she asks, perplexed.

“You’re not alone,” he explains. “I’m tired too.”

The confession spreads through her veins, easing her ache, wrapping itself around her heart.

“Thank you, Dante.”

He nods, smiles and walks away wondering if she knows how much she means to him.


End file.
